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14 WOMAN KA 1 / GOSSIP OF THE LENTEN SEASON Bab Declares That the Proper Study of Womankind Is Man. (Copywright, 1898.) The one Lenten class that has had a reg ular and full attendance is that one where the teacher instructed her scholars in the art of being charmed. At least it isn’t put Uhls way—l believe there is some sort of a health title given to it—but the gen eral idea is that you pay $lO for twenty lessons, and learn how to be lovely forever over and a day after. The teacher is, first of all, a woman of sense. She began by saying that the av erage woman did not know how to wash her face, and I covered myself with dis honor by calling out: “Hear!” Hear!” Aly dearest enemy said it sounded as if I didn’t understand the noble art of bathing my countenance, but that is anotlher story. The average woman, so said the speaker, In washing her face, takes the end of a towel, dips it in a little tepid water, smears around under her eyes, about the lip of her nose and the edges of her chin, and then she carefully goes over her face with a damask towel to absorb any stray drops of water that may incidentally cling to her. Then s/he fiddles with the powdeu dabbles on a little rouge, and goes out un der the impresison that she has bathed her face. Now, the woman who knows it all says that the right way to wash your face * IBiCTMiSi X Will I*' j illMlMMfeDKw Ml i i HmK ■ 1 V ■ ffia Is, in the very beginning, to have the big igests kind of a basin, and to fill it almost to the top with hot water. Then take in one of those animated washcloths—your hands—a cake of delicate soap, lather well, and go all over your face with both hands’ rubbing, scrubbing, rinsing and bathing until there is an exquisite sense of cleanli ness. Now’ it is time to empty that basin and to fill it with tepid water going all over your face so that not a particle of soap ■clings to you, and after throwing it away give your face its third bath of water water that is cold enough to make your skin conscious of a sensation of life. That is the sort of bath that keeps the skin fine and delicate, clear, firm and exquis itely beautiful. It is not necessary to rub your face so hard that your nose is red and your eyes are full of soap. There is a right and wrong way to wash the face, and the right way is the way that we are be ing taught this Lent. By the bye, if you are an American, you have what the doctors call a sensitive skin, and as soon as March winds began to fan your cheeks, and the March sun began to smile upon you. there was an impression left—it is an impression—that you don't fancy, and you use every remedy you can think of to make the golden spots go away. Be wise in your generation, and, with the • exception of taking care of your skin, let ' the freckles alone. You may be induced to j do this when you are told, as a grand- i mother told a party of young girls, that they ought to be proud of rather than wor ried about their freckles, because it was a well known fact that a girl that was I freckled was invariably loveable. The wo man who is giving us points on being charming says that lemon juice dappled on the skin will cause the freckles to disap pear. A remedy which was known before the days of Cleopatra, and which is called “virginal milk,” is said to be destruction to them. You make it today just as did the gentle Charmian when her mistress thought she noticed one amber colored spot upon her cheek near her left eye. The re cipe has nor varied: “To a quart of rose- ! water add. drop by drop, an ounce of tine- | ture of bezoine, stirring it constantly.” I When you want to use it, throw enough in | the hand basin to make the water the col or of skim milk, and then bathe your face thoroughly with it. dabbing it with a soft towel. Just remember to remember that it is tincture of benzoine that you need, and not bezine, which would be about as good for your face as kerosene oil. The lady lecturer said that the average woman treated her face as if it were made of buckram, and not of the most tender material in the world. Away back in the days of Charles 11., when to be a beauty meant to be a success, there was a bath in vogue which was sup posed to give special tone to the skin, and , to keep it in proper condition. It was a j very simple bath, consisting merely of tep id water in which there was thrown a pint of perfectly pure vinegar. The ladies of the olden days thought much of their own books on cosmetics, and each generation of lovely women wrote in the family book that which tended to make her most at tractive, caused the curl to stay in her hair and made her eyes brightest, so that the coming beauties could see, learn and inwardly digest. It has been said that Cleopatra herself wrote a book on the art of the toilet, and I have sometimes been frivilous enough to wonder if the Sphinx knew where that book was hidden, and wouldn’t tell. Tne lecture who was lec turing has great respect for the 15-minute nap. She says that if you and I and the other women would throw ourselves down on a comfy lounge and become lost to the world for about 15 minutes each day, we would grow younger with marvelous speed. She is also a great believer in the advan tages of not worrying, and she thinks that women grow more lovely by being told of their charms. Here I agree with her. A few words of praise have made many an ordinary woman a delight, and a daily dose of praise from the right man has made wo men absolutely beautiful. Who is the right man? Poor Mrs. Car lyle thought she had got him. and yet a friend who met the genius on the door step one day when he looked a little ex cited, passed him by with a civil bow’, only to be ushered into a darkened room, where the debris of the tea was on the floor, and the figure of Mrs. Carlyle on the sofa. A. . * VwiPv an % ft . • >•//// \ I -nia D agitated voice the wife inquired Did you meet Thomas?” nn T ?hV? Dd res Ponded: “Yes, I met him is the mauer?” 5 g Very Sad ' What “The matter!” came the answer. “I have been two days on this sofa with a sick headache, and he has onlv just this instant inquired what ailed me, and I— well, I have thrown my teacup at him.” And these two people thought that thev loved each other! But take Disraeli and his wife. After thirty-two years of mar ried life he spoke of her as “the most se vere critic and the most perfect wife.” These people did love each other. Did you er read that life of Lady Dufferin writ ten by her son? Read it, my friend. There is the story of the woman who was never so old that men did not fund her charm ing. It is true that she was one of the beautiful Sheridans, and such women come only once in a century, but when you read ; about these women does it not seem worth • while to make yourself charming, even if the process involves much thought and much use of water and soap? I read a little story the other dav that delighted my soul. The wife of the fa mous Sir Bartie Freer had driven to the station to meet her husband. She told the footman to go and find the general. The servant, a new one. had been engaged in his master's absence, so he asked: “How shall I know him?” “Oh.” answered Lady Frere. “look for a tall gentleman who is helping somebody. Sure enough he found the hero of a hundred battles help ing an old lady out of the railway car. The loveliest thing that General Bobs ever did was to dedicate his book. “Forty- One Years In India.” “To my wife, without whose help my 41 years in India couid not be the happy retrospect it is.” I grow very proud of being a woman when I real ize what splendid wives some of them have made, what good companions they have been, and what veritable joys for ever. It makes the little care taking very well worth while. I know the woman’s rights women think that being a com panion to a man does not amount to much. But it does, my friend, it does. And if there is anything good in a man, if there is anything gentle in a man, anything al together delightful in a man you can generally trace it to his mother. Oh, I know what I am talking about! I have always maintained that the proper study MACON NEWS SATURDAY EVENING, APRIL 2 1898 of womankind was man. It is is an inter esting study that makes it worth while to garb one's seif in one’s best gown, to b - as attractive as possible, and then to read as distinctly as possible. Man is an in teresting book, and you can be pretty cer tain that when you finish reading one edi tion that a sequel will follow. For what woman possessed of any wit was ever sat isfied with the first volume of a story? She keeps on reading and reading until the entire story is hers, and then she learns that by heart. Has this been your expe rience? No? Well, it has been the expe rience of many of the women I hav, known, and in truth it has been the expe rience of that omniverous reader, The early Christians did not observe Easter, and it was not until the fifth or sixth century of the Christian era that the observance of the day became general. The council of Nice, in 352 A. D., ruled that the day must be observed on the first Sunday of the first full moon after March 21st. You can talk to 10.000 every day throuab th« nolnmn» of Th» ■ KOwt ♦ STYLISH STATIONERY. Fashionable Paper for Those Who Regard the Elegances of Lije. Huge envelopes that contain onlv one simple unfolded sheet are'to be the mediums of ceremonious corresnon uence among people who have a true re gard for the elegancies of life savs a writer tn the New York Mail and’Express Its vprv sty e n 9 ther ? rett y nor sensible, air abour aD H IVeReSS has an half \ h makes one think onlv half sheets can be used. The ext-a ex travagance in the way of the wide extent or enA elope does not destroj’ this feeling Enterprising stationers may work their ',\ eadae st will and ingenuity as to new styles in paper and envelopes, but one must wonder who and what are the people wno are attracted by their glaring novel ties. Tnere ought to be but one legitimate rule for the writing materials of well bred men and women, and that is to have it as good and plain and as perfectly fresh as possible. Nothing is prettier than a square sheet of ivory white, parchment like paper, with the address neatly stamp ed at the top, and. perhaps, if ornamenta tion is particularly desired, a small mono gram in the same color to match in the opposite corner. All the awful designs that are displayed by stationers, however, should be spurned by everybody who has any idea of good taste. There’ is scarlet writing paper and brown writing paper, and a dreadful purple writing paper, and who does not know of that “delicately per fumed, roseate sheet” of which lady novel ists are so fond? But, to be correct, paper can only be white, either ivory or cream, pale gray, that curious shade of parch ment blue, or possibly a delicate tone of lavender. All other tints should be shunned like a plague. ROniHNGE CF EB6TER SUNDRY The Story of a Bachelor, a Pretty Girl and Their Love Affair. (Copyright, 1598.) ' When a man is 45 he begins to speak of himself as an old fellow ialbeit he resents I the public acquiescence in his statement), . jests about b s growing tendency towards stoutness, and watches it with anxiety in ■ the seclusion of his den, where the mir i ror reflects without speaking on the crys l tallized fact of bis embonpoint, puts off 1 the date of his probable death from 70 till i 90, and begins to look up and remember ' the records concerning the longevity of his ( forefathers. These unpleasant tendencies I are emphasized in the case of a bachelor, for he has no patient wife to conceal the thinness of the hair on his temples, or children to keep him young by travels into s J .oat land where fancy masquerades as fact and fact as fancy. David Spring was of this semi-objec tionable class. He had allowed the good things of life to slip by him unnetted while he had busied himself in chasing what seemed to him of paramount import ance until secured, when he discovered it was but a glossy apple with a dusty inte rior. At 45 he was rich, good looking, a desirable parti for those who were con tented with the has, instead of the possi bilities of the may be, was angled after by many anxious mammas, and met three quarters of the way by dutiful daughters who had inherited tendencies toward lux ury and well kept homes. But he seemed to have lost the faculty for matrimony which is born in some, achieved by others, and thrust upon a full third of the mas culine portion of the globe. He appeared to lack the strength to make that leap into the abyss of dual companionship which men younger and less successful than himself thought as nothing, taking it as an adjunct to club, sporting and mer cantile life. He admitted to others that ti,e young women of his acquaintance were chaiming, companionable, fascinating, per plexing, and provocative of further anal ysis in fact, all that the society journals denominated them —and acknowledged to himself that he was an old fogy, “out of it, a back number, and deserved his fate, which he pictured as a gradual descent from day to day into a crabbed and lonely old age, passed over by his friends for younger men who were more leniently dis posed toward the marriageble portion of the female population, exacting to his ser vants, rheumatic and careless in dress. If he had been poetic he would have said that hope had fled, and illusion was shat tered, two necessary ingredients for a fu ture with with daily companionship, but he was not poetic. It was a long time since he had sat on a green bank and read “Tears, Idle Tears,” to a charming young woman in a white gown, with auburn hair and violet eyes, and a still longer time since he had wandered into the paths of versifying without the proper inspiration of said feminine prompter. He was going up town in the cable car one afternoon from Wall street, when he was suddenly reminded of the auburn haired girl. He thought of her occasion ally when he saw a picture with suggestive curves in a shop window, when he heard deep notes of passion thrilling in an actress’ I voice, or when, as sometimes happened, he met the original at dinner with her portly husoand. A. such mormats he would think grimly of the might have been, of his foolish ambitions and near sightedness. Tais day it was the scent of some flowers that recalled her, and the dainty face of a young girl who sat oppo site to him at first and later compelled him to rise by an indefinably expectant glance and give his seat to a stout la i,’ who was burdened with bundles an 1 trod on his toes. They rode a long way togeth er. he stealing glances at her now and then, reflecting on the past and possible future, she slightly embarrassed when she nitt them, and deliciously cognizant when she did not. He followed her mechanically when she alighted from the car. Perhaps he would not have done so if she had not stopped at the street next his own. but one block is a considerable of a concession for a man of 45 to make to some blue eyes, a dainty profile, a few withered flowers and the power of a dead past. He was glad that she lived so near to him. although he was half ashamed to confess it. He might see her sometimes, an 1 it was pleas ant to know that a young, bright soul lived benind those dull bricks and brown stones. It made the street look less dingy. He caught fleeting glimpses of her now and again, partly due to chance, partly to tne fact that he acquired the habit of stepping off the cars below his usual stopping place, anotaer concession to the blue and the past. She always recognized him. He could see the color come into her face and the faint smile into the ey s He v ondere i if she was really glad. Could it be —such an old fogy, and she so young; 45 and a:.- i.r.l oi it at tht edges? No, it could not, but it was pleasant to walk by her aouse and g.-t a glimpse of her at the window. VThat a fool an old fool is to be sure, a thought that obtruded itself unin vited, and interfered with his business, the first thing that ever had. One day he was just m time. Flattered by the knowledge that she was watched, she hesitated a second too long, and he caught her arm and dragged her back from the clanging car, one of those constnatly occurring metropolitan experiences which X. aj?j‘ jars / / X I accounts for the facial expression of nine tenths of the people on* 3 meets in the city. He walked with her a little way while she r e herself, and uttered a few words of thanks. She had often apparently been saved before, for her words were not em phatic, rather as if it were a matter of course to be dragged from Juggernaut wheels. He could not blame her for that. She was perhaps impulsive, and there were so many cars, and he thought with a ting p of resentment of the other men who had perhaps saved her life and received grate ful words. He didn’t know what was the matter with him. He didn’t sleep, and be felt an impatient desire for exercise, especially in one locality, and the absence of a certain girlish figure in his horizon had the most astonishing effect upon him. He thought he must have the spring fever—or some thing. He had never thought so before except the spring when the auburn haired girl—well, that was past, and she was wed and the mother of children. What tricks fate could play! Well, he’d be all over it soon. It was a temporary madness, just the faint flicker before the youthful feel in? died completely; that was all. The next time he saw her she was on her way to church with a bunch of lilies on her fawn colored gown, and safely sheltered by mamma and papa, the latter of whom wel comed him gladly. They "were old school mates, and the incongruity of the situa tion caused a sardonic smile to leap to his lips. He turned and joined them, accept ing the mute invitation of her eyes, which accompanied the verbal one of her pa rents. He sat next her in the pew, and arranged her footstool, inhaled the fra grance of the lilies, and called himself a fool again and again. Never had a sermon seemed so appro priately fitted to the occasion. Never had his spiritual attitude harmonized so per fectly with the preacher’s words. If the flowers were symbols of a resurrection, if the spring and summer came again, if there were no death —only resurrection— why not? Why not? They walked back demurely, discussing the great theme of the day. “Do you believe it?” he querried. “All that the preacher said?” “Os course,” and she looked shocked at the question. “That the flowers rise again and the sea sons return, and the stone was rolled away from the door of the tomb?” “Yes, yes, of course.” She spoke a little impatiently. Was she a child to be so cat echised? “And the heart?” He spoke more quickly ly, bending toward her, nearer the white lilies and the blue eyes. “If the heart is withered, dead, walled up with the rock of materialism, selfish ness, is there a resurrection for that? C. one be born again? Is there an Easter for the living as -.veil as for the dead?, for love, for hope?” Sre was innocent, yes, else she had n : won -where others had failed, but it was not the innocence of ignorance, and she understood what the question implied, and what her answer meant. When he walked away he had one of her ? lilies in his hand, and he held his head strangely erect. GERTRUDE F. LYNCH. PUNCH ROBERTSON At the Academy All Next Week, Beginning Tuesday. * Perhaps no player has ever visited Ma con who has so many friends as that whole souled little fellow. Punch Robinson. Punch begins his five nights’ engagement at the Opera House Tuesday night, when be will present that great comedy. “The Parisian Princess.” This season Punch carnes a car load of scenery and electrical effects. His repertoire is as follows: “Too Parisian Princess." "The World." “Fogg’s Ferry,” “The Girl I Love,” “Cinderella, ’ A c ’z 1 “Always on Time. Punch’s company is practically the same as last season. On the opening night Frank Fahey has the best comedy role he ever attempted, and that Frank makes a go of it is a sure thing. Frank has new songs to chunk at the birds this season. On Tuesday night every gentleman buying a 30 Cent ticket before 6 p. m. of that day will be allowed to take a lady free. SATURDAY ONE BAD BREAK. The Folly of Advertising Through Circu lars. On the whole I consider advertising through circulars a very poor method, and, , therefore, a very expensive one. As part ' of an advertising campaign a well vritten circular, sent out period! ally, has its uses the same as have other links in the long i chain of modern advertising methods. Its I strongest point is that its issue can be J customers, and, bearing a 2-cent stamp, I it is not always without benefit. But the fl idea has been so awfully overdone. Thous- fl ands upon thousands or houses use circu- fl lars and the daily mail is burdened. The fl sight of one has become an eyesore to the fl recipient. The mail-carrier seems to b* afflicted in the same way, for he tosses. * it on the table like a thing he hates —and , have you not often completed his intent j by sweeping it pellmell into the waste basket? They cost S2O a thousand to mail and 20,000 times more time to prepare than you have time to waste. When you com pile them you think fondly of their merit and wholly fail to remember that you tossed aside nine in ten of those received yesterday without so much as looking at them. Will your circular meet with a bet ter reception? You say “yes” because you intend getting up an attractive one —good paper, good type, elegant halftones —a sort of souvenir that will be preserved. No doubt you yourself have in your time re ceived some pretty ones. Now, candidly, how large is your collection of souvenirs and where are they? Do you brush your elbows against them every time you plunge into your ink locked away in your bottom, drawer serving out a penance of oblivion worse than that of the cheap and nasty ones you consigned without ceremony to the ragman’s heap? At one time, under protest, I prepared an expensive circular for a business man I who thought that if gotten up in supreme 1 taste it would be preserved and do a great deal of good. The next noon after they A were mailed the head of the house visited fl a friend to whom one had been directed and fl found the recipient’s infant son, who hd” been left in the inner office while ‘ made a hurried call, contentedly sitting on the floor tearing it to tatters. It was a pretty pamphlet, you know, full of pic tures, and given to amuse the lad. No matter how attractively prepared the I result of the best observation is -that they remain unappreciated. Let the litho grapher tax his ingenuity, the compositor unfold' the secrets of his craft, make lite- I rary bouquets of them, scent them with violet, bind them in blue ribbons if you will —with monotonous regularity vastly the major part of them seem to go one way, generally not read, often not even opened. And how expensive. The hundred dol lars invested compiling and floating them —I like the term “float” with reference to circulars —might be spent to better advan tage in a steady advertisement, even though a small one, in a good paper. Com pared with the best circular ever written a good advertisement is so cheap as to dis- fl rance it in every way.—National Industrial fl Review. fl J